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OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 


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OUR  FRIEND 
THE  DOG 

BY 

MAURICE   MAETERLINCK 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BEE,"  ETC. 

TRANSLATED  BY 
ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 
CECIL  ALDEN 


X 
X 
DC 
XT 

X 

k 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
I9i3 


• 


xl 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  BY 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

COPYRIGHT,  190^,  BY 
DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPAQ T 

Published,  October,  1918 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 


s*~ 


273403 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 
I 

T  HAVE  lost,  within  these  last 
•*•  few  days,  a  little  bull-dog. 
He  had  just  completed  the  sixth 
month  of  his  brief  existence. 
He  had  no  history.  His  intelli- 
gent eyes  opened  to  look  -  out 
upon  the  world,  to  love  man- 
kind, then  closed  again  on  the 
cruel  secrets  of  death. 

The  friend  who   presented  me 

with   him   had    given   him,  ( per- 

H  3  H 


^Ha 


' 

-  . 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

haps  by  antiphrasis,  the  startling 
name  of  Pelleas.  Why  rechris- 
ten  him?  For  how  can  a  poor 
dog,  loving,  devoted,  faithful, 
disgrace  the  name  of  a  man  or 

an  imaginary  hero? 

i^*^^^ 

Pelleas  had  a  great  bulging, 
powerful  forehead,  like  that  of 
Socrates  or  Verlaine;  and,  under 
a  little  black  nose,  blunt  as  a 
churlish  assent,  a  pair  of  large 
hanging  and  symmetrical  chops, 
which  made  his  head  a  sort  of 
massive,  obstinate,  pensive  and 
H  4  H 


c 

r~ 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

three-cornered  menace.  He  was 
beautiful  after  the  manner  of  a 
beautiful,  natural  monster  that 
has  complied  strictly  with  the 
laws  of  its  species.  And  what  a 
smile  of  attentive  obligingness,  of 
incorruptible  innocence,  of  affec- 
tionate submission,  of  boundless 
gratitude  and  total  self-abandon- 
ment lit  up,  at  the  least  caress, 
that  adorable  mask  of  ugliness! 
Whence  exactly  did  that  smile 
emanate?  From  the  ingenuous 
and  melting  eyes?  From  the 
H  5  H 


r*d 
rd 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

ears  pricked  up  to  catch  the 
words  of  man?  From  the  fore- 
head that  unwrinkled  to  appreci- 
ate and  love,  or  from  the  stump 
of  a  tail  that  wriggled  at  the 
other  end  to  testify  to  the  inti- 
mate and  impassioned  joy  that 
filled  his  small  being,  happy  once 
more  to  encounter  the  hand  or 
the  glance  of  the  god  to  whom 
he  surrendered  himself?^ 

Pelleas  was  born  in  Paris,  and 
I  had  taken  him  to  the  country. 
His    bonny   fat    paws,    shapeless 
H  6  H 


re 
re 
re 

re 
re 
re 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

and  not  yet  stiffened,  carried 
slackly  through  the  unexplored 
pathways  of  his  new  existence 
his  huge  and  serious  head,  flat- 
nosed  and,  as  it  were,  rendered 
heavy  with  thought. 

For  this  thankless  and  rather 
sad  head,  like  that  of  an  over- 
worked child,  was  beginning 
the  overwhelming  work  that  op- 
presses every  brain  at  the  start 
of  life.  He  had,  in  less  than 
five  or  six  weeks,  to  get  into  his 
mind,  taking  shape  within  it,  an 
H  7  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 


image  and  a  satisfactory  concep- 
tion of  the  universe.  Man,  aided 
by  all  the  knowledge  of  his  own 
elders  and  his  brothers,  takes 


thirty  or  forty  years  to  outline 
that  conception,  but  the  humble 
dog  has  to  unravel  it  for  himself 
in  a  few  days: /and  yet,  in  the 
eyes  of  a  god,  who  should  know 
all  things,  would  it  not  have  the 
same  weight  and  the  same  value 
as  our  own?) 

It    was    a    question,   then,    of 
studying  the  ground,  which  can 

H    8    H 


-^     i 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 


be  scratched  and  dug  up  and 
which  sometimes  reveals  surpris- 
ing things;  of  casting  at  the 
sky,  which  is  uninteresting,  for 
there  is  nothing  there  to  eat,  one 
glance  that  does  away  with  it  for 
good  and  all;  of  discovering  the 
grass,  the  admirable  and  green 
grass,  the  springy  and  cool  grass, 
a  field  for  races  and  sports,  a 
friendly  and  boundless  bed,  ( in 
which  lies  hidden  the  good  and 
wholesome  couch-grass. )  It  was 
a  question,  also,  of  taking  pro- 
H  9  H 


X— '^ 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

miscuously  a  thousand  urgent 
and  curious  observations.  It  was 
necessary,  for  instance,  with  no 
other  guide  than  pain,  to  learn 
to  calculate  the  height  of  objects 
from  the  top  of  which  you  can 
jump  into  space;  to  convince 
yourself  that  it  is  vain  to  pursue 
birds  who  fly  away  and  that  you 
are  unable  to  clamber  up  trees 
after  the  cats  who  defy  you  there ; 
to  distinguish  between  the  sunny 
spots  where  it  is  delicious  to 
sleep  and  the  patches  of  shade 


H    10 


OUR  FRIEND  THE   DOG 

in  which  you  shiver;  to  remark 
with  stupefaction  that  the  rain 
does  not  fall  inside  the  houses, 
that  water  is  cold,  uninhabitable 
and  dangerous,  while  fire  is 
beneficent  at  a  distance,  but  ter- 
rible when  you  come  too  near; 
to  observe  that  the  meadows, 
the  farm-yards  and  sometimes 
the  roads  are  haunted  by  giant 
creatures  with  threatening  horns, 
creatures  good-natured,  perhaps, 
and,  at  any  rate,  silent,  creatures 
who  allow  you  to  sniff  at  them 
HUH 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

a  little  curiously  without  taking 
offence,  but  who  keep  their  real 
thoughts  to  themselves.  It  was 
necessary  to  learn,  as  the  result 
of  painful  and  humiliating  ex- 
periment, that  you  are  not  at 
liberty  to  obey  all  nature's  laws 
without  distinction  in  the  dwell- 
ing of  the  gods ;  to  recognize  that 
the  kitchen  is  the  privileged  and 
most  agreeable  spot  in  that  divine 
dwelling,  although  you  are  hardly 
allowed  to  abide  in  it  because  of 
the  cook,  who  is  a  considerable, 


H     12    H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

but  jealous  power;  to  learn  that 
doors  are  important  and  capri- 
cious volitions,  which  sometimes 
lead  to  felicity,  but  which  most 
often,  hermetically  closed,  mute 
and  stern,  haughty  and  heartless, 
remain  deaf  to  all  entreaties;  to 
admit,  once  and  for  all,  that  the 
essential  good  things  of  life,  the 
indisputable  blessings,  generally 
imprisoned  in  pots  and  stewpans, 
are  almost  always  inaccessible; 
to  know  how  to  look  at  them 
with  laboriously-acquired  indiffer^ 
H  i3  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

ence  and  to  practise  to  take  no 
notice  of  them,  saying  to  your- 
self that  here  are  objects  which 
are  probably  sacred,  since  merely 
to  skim  them  with  the  tip  of  a 
respectful  tongue  is  enough  to 
let  loose  the  unanimous  anger  of 
all  the  gods  of  the  house. 

And  then,  what  is  one  to  think 
of  the  table  on  which  so  many 
things  happen  that  cannot  be 
guessed;  of  the  derisive  chairs 
on  which  one  is  forbidden  to 
sleep;  of  the  plates  and  dishes 
H  i4  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

that  are  empty  by  the  time  that 
one  can  get  at  them ;  of  the  lamp 
that  drives  away  the  dark?  .  .  . 
How  many  orders,  dangers,  pro- 
hibitions, problems,  enigmas  has 
one  not  to  classify  in  one's  over- 
burdened memory !  .  .  .  And  how 
to  reconcile  all  this  with  other 
laws,  other  enigmas,  wider  and 
more  imperious,  which  one  bears 
within  one's  self,  within  one's  in- 
stinct, which  spring  up  and  de- 
velop from  one  hour  to  the  other, 
which  come  from  the  depths  of 
H  i5  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

time  and  the  race,  invade  the 
blood,  the  muscles  and  the  nerves 
and  suddenly  assert  themselves 
more  irresistibly  and  more  power- 
fully than  pain,  the  word  of  the 
master  himself,  or  the  fear  of 
death  ? 

Thus,  for  instance,  to  quote 
only  one  example,  >vhen  the  hour 
of  sleep  has  struck  for  men,  you 
ka¥e~  retire^  to  your  hole,  sur- 
rounded by  the  darkness,  the 
silence  and  the  formidable  soli- 
tude of  the  night.  All  is  sleep 
16 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

in  the  master's  house.  You  feel 
yourself  very  small  and  weak  in 
the  presence  of  the  mystery.  You 
know  that  the  gloom  is  peopled 
with  foes  who  hover  and  lie  in 
wait.  You  suspect  the  trees,  the 
passing  wind  and  the  moonbeams. 
You  would  like  to  hide,  to  sup- 
press yourself  by  holding  your 
breath.  But  still  the  watch  must 
be  kept;  you  must,  at  the  least 
sound,  issue  from  your  retreat, 
face  the  invisible  and  bluntly  dis- 
turb the  imposing  silence  of  the 
M  17  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE   DOG 

earth,  at  the  risk  of  bringing 
down  the  whispering  evil  or 
crime  upon  yourself  alone.  Who- 
ever the  enemy  be,  even  if  he 
be  man,  that  is  to  say,  the  very 
brother  of  the  god  whom  it  is 
your  business  to  defend,  you 
must  attack  him  blindly,  fly  at 
his  throat,  fasten  your  perhaps 
sacrilegious  teeth  into  human 
flesh,  disregard  the  spell  of  a 
hand  and  voice  similar  to  those 
of  your  master,  never  be  silent, 
never  attempt  to  escape,  never 
H  18  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 


allow  yourself  to  be  tempted  or 
bribed  and,  lost  in  the  night 
without  help,  prolong  the  heroic 
alarm  to  your  last  breath. 

There  is  the  great  ancestral 
duty,  the  essential  duty,  stronger 
than  death,  which  not  even  man's 
will  and  anger  are  able  to  check. 
All  our  humble  history,  linked 
with  that  of  the  dog  in  our  first 
struggles  against  every  breath- 
ing thing,  tends  to  prevent  his 
forgetting  it.  And  when,  in  our 
safer  dwelling-places  of  to-day, 
H  19  H 


OUR   FRIEND   THE  DOG 

we  happen  to  punish  him  for 
his  untimely  zeal,  he  throws  us 
a  glance  of  astonished  reproach, 
as  though  to  point  out  to  us  that 
we  are  in  the  wrong  and  that, 
if  we  lose  sight  of  the  main 
clause  in  the  treaty  of  alliance 
which  he  made  with  us  at  the 
time  when  we  lived  in  caves, 
forests  and  fens,  he  continues 
faithful  to  it  in  spite  of  us  and 
remains  nearer  to  the  eternal 
truth  of  life,  which  is  full  of 
snares  and  hostile  forces.  \ 
H  20  H 


^Y 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

But  how  much  care  and  study 
are  needed  to  succeed  in  fulfil- 
ling this  duty!  And  how  com- 
plicated it  has  become  since  the 
days  of  the  silent  caverns  and 
the  great  deserted  lakes !  It  was 
all  so  simple,  then,  so  easy 
and  so  clear.  The  lonely  hollow 
opened  upon  the  side  of  the  hill, 
and  all  that  approached,  all  that 
moved  on  the  horizon  of  the 
plains  or  woods,  was  the  un- 

L  X**** 

mistakable   enemy.   .   .   .  But   to- 
day you  can  no  longer  tell.   .  .   . 
H  21  H 


~Y 


:x 

^^ 


.**& 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

You  have  to  acquaint  yourself 
with  a  civilization  of  which  you 
disapprove,  to  appear  to  under- 
stand a  thousand  incomprehen- 
sible things.  .  .  .  Thus,  it  seems 
evident  that  henceforth  the  whole 
world  no  longer  belongs  to  the 
master,  that  his  property  con- 
forms to  unintelligible  limits.  .  .  . 
It  becomes  necessary,  therefore, 
first  of  all  to  know  exactly  where 
the  sacred  domain  begins  and 
ends.  Whom  are  you  to  suffer, 
whom  to  stop?  .  .  .  There  is 
H  22  H 


> 


< 


XT 


x 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

the  road  by  which  every  one, 
even  the  poor,  has  the  right  to 
pass.  Why?  You  do  not  know; 
it  is  a  fact  which  you  deplore, 
but  which  you  are  bound  to  ac- 
cept. Fortunately,  on  the  other 
hand,  here  is  the  fair  path  which 
none  may  tread.  This  path  is 
faithful  to  the  sound  traditions; 
it  is  not  to  be  lost  sight  of;  for 
by  it  enter  into  your  daily  exist- 
ence the  difficult  problems  of  life. 
Would  you  have  an  example? 
You  are  sleeping  peacefully  in 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

a  ray  of  the  sun  that  covers 
the  threshold  of  the  kitchen  with 
pearls.  The  earthenware  pots  are 
amusing  themselves  by  elbowing 
and  nudging  one  another  on  the 
edge  of  the  shelves  trimmed  with 
paper  lace-work.  The  copper 
stewpans  play  at  scattering  spots 
of  light  over  the  smooth  white 
walls.  The  motherly  stove  hums 
a  soft  tune  and  dandles  three 
saucepans  blissfully  dancing;  and, 
from  the  little  hole  that  lights  up 
its  inside,  defies  the  good  dog 
H  a4  H 


^ 


. 

— -A-. 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

who  cannot  approach,  by  con- 
stantly putting  out  at  him  its 
fiery  tongue.  The  clock,  bored 
in  its  oak  case,  before  striking 
the  august  hour  of  meal  time, 
swings  its  great  gilt  navel  to 
and  fro ;  and  the  cunning  flies 
tease  your  ears.  On  the  glitter- 
ing table  lie  a  chicken,  a  hare, 
three  partridges,  besides  other 
things  which  are  called  fruits — 
peaches,  melons,  grapes  —  and 
which  are  all  good  for  nothing. 
The  cook  guts  a  big  silver  fish 

H    25    h 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

and  throws  the  entrails  (instead 
of  giving  them  to  you !)  into  the 
dust-bin.  Ah,  the  dust-bin  !  In- 
exhaustible treasury,  receptacle  of 
windfalls,  the  jewel  of  the  house ! 
You  shall  have  your  share  of 
it,  an  exquisite  and  surreptitious 
share ;  but  it  does  not  do  to  seem 
to  know  where  it  is.  You  are 
strictly  forbidden  to  rummage  in 
it.  Man  in  this  way  prohibits 
many  pleasant  things,  and  life 
would  be  dull  indeed  and  your 
days  empty  if  you  had  to  obey  all 
H  26  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

the  orders  of  the  pantry,  the  cellar 
and  the  dining-room.  Luckily, 
he  is  absent-minded  and  does  not 
long  remember  the  instructions 
which  he  lavishes.  He  is  easily 
deceived.  You  achieve  your  ends 
and  do  as  you  please,  provided 
you  have  the  patience  to  await 
the  hour.  You  are  subject  to 
man,  and  he  is  the  one  god;  but 
you  none  the  less  have  your  own 
personal,  exact  and  imperturbable 
morality,  which  proclaims  aloud 
that  illicit  acts  become  most  law- 
H  27  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

ful  through  the  very  fact  that 
they  are  performed  without  the 
master's  knowledge.  Therefore, 
let  us  close  the  watchful  eye  that 
has  seen.  Let  us  pretend  to  sleep 
and  to  dream  of  the  moon.  .  .  . 

Hark!  A  gentle  tapping  at  the 
blue  window  that  looks  out  on 
the  garden!  What  is  it?  Noth- 
ing; a  bough  of  hawthorn  that 
has  come  to  see  what  we  are  do- 
ing in  the  cool  kitchen.  Trees 
are  inquisitive  and  often  excited ; 
but  they  do  not  count,  one  has 

H  28  H 

~. 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

nothing  to  say  to  them,  they 
are  irresponsible,  they  obey  the 
wind,  which  has  no  principles. 
.  .  .  But  what  is  that?  I  hear 
steps!  .  .  .  Up,  ears  open;  nose 
on  the  alert!  ...  It  is  the 
baker  coming  up  to  the  rails, 
while  the  postman  is  opening  a 
little  gate  in  the  hedge  of  lime- 
trees.  They  are  friends;  it  is 
well;  they  bring  something:  you 
can  greet  them  and  wag  your 
tail  discreetly  twice  or  thrice, 
with  a  patronizing  smile.  ...  »-i 

L_.       Ha9H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

Another  alarm!  What  is  it 
now?  A  carriage  pulls  up  in 
front  of  the  steps.  The  problem 
is  a  complex  one.  Before  all,  it 
is  of  consequence  to  heap  copi- 
ous insults  on  the  horses,  great, 
proud  beasts,  who  make  no  reply. 
Meantime,  you  examine  out  of  the 
corner  of  your  eye  the  persons 
alighting.  They  are  well-clad  and 
seem  full  of  confidence.  They  are 
probably  going  to  sit  at  the  table 
of  the  gods.  The  proper  thing  is 
to  bark  without  acrimony,  with  a 
H  3o  H 


OUR   FRIEND   THE  DOG 

shade  of  respect,  so  as  to  show 
that  you  are  doing  your  duty,  but 
that  you  are  doing  it  with  intelli- 
gence. Nevertheless,  you  cherish 
a  lurking  suspicion  and,  behind 
the  guests'  backs,  stealthily,  you 
sniff  the  air  persistently  and  in  a 
knowing  way,  in  order  to  discern 
any  hidden  intentions. 

But  halting  footsteps  resound 
outside  the  kitchen.  This  time 
it  is  the  poor  man  dragging  his 
crutch,  the  unmistakable  enemy, 
the  hereditary  enemy,  the  direct 
H  3i  H 


OUR   FRIEND  THE  DOG 

descendant  of  him  who  roamed 
outside  the  bone-cramped  cave 
which  you  suddenly  see  again  in 
your  racial  memory.  Drunk  with 
indignation,  your  bark  broken, 
your  teeth  multiplied  with  hatred 
and  rage,  you  are  about  to  seize 
their  reconcilable  adversary  by  the 
breeches,  when  the  cook,  armed 
with  her  broom,  the  ancillary 
and  )fors worn  sceptre,  comes  to 
protect  the  traitor,  and  you  are 
obliged  to  go  back  to  your  hole, 
where,  with  eyes  filled  with  im- 
H  3a  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

potent  and  slanting  flames,  you 
growl  out  frightful,  but  futile 
curses,  thinking  within  yourself 
that  this  is  the  end  of  all  things, 
and  that  the  human  species  has 
lost  its  notion  of  justice  and  in- 
justice. .  .  . 

Is  that  all?  Not  yet;(fbr  the 
smallest  life  is  made  up  of  innu- 
merous  duties,  and  it  is  a  long 
work  to  organize  a  happy  exist- 
ence upon  the  borderland  of  two 
such  different  worlds  as  the  world 
of  beasts  and  the  world  of  men. 
H  33  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

How  should  we  fare  if  we  had 
to  serve,  while  remaining  within 
our  own  sphere,  a  divinity,  not 
an  imaginary  one,  like  to  our- 
selves, because  the  offspring  of 
our  own  brain,  but  a  god  actually 
visible,  ever  present,  ever  active 
and  as  foreign,  as  superior  to  our 
being  as  we  are  to  the  dog?J 

We  now,  (to  return  to  Pelleasj 
know  pretty  well  what  to  do  and 
how  to  behave  on  the  master's 
premises.  But  the  world  does 
not  end  at  the  house-door,  and, 
H  34  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

beyond  the  walls  and  beyond  the 
hedge,  there  is  a  universe  of  which 
one  has  not  the  custody,  where 
one  is  no  longer  at  home,  where 
relations  are  changed.  How  are 
we  to  stand  in  the  street,  in  the 
fields,  in  the  market-place,  in  the 
shops?  In  consequence  of  diffi- 
cult and  delicate  observations,  we 
understand  that  we  must  take  no 
notice  of  passers-by ;  obey  no  calls 
but  the  master's ;  be  polite,  with  in- 
difference, to  strangers  who  pet  us. 
Next,  we  must  conscientiously  ful- 
H  35  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

fil  certain  obligations  of  mysterious 
courtesy  toward  our  brothers  the 
other  dogs;  respect  chickens  and 
ducks;  not  appear  to  remark  the 
cakes  at  the  pastry-cook's,  which 
spread  themselves  insolently  within 
reach  of  the  tongue ;  show  to  the 
cats,  who,  on  the  steps  of  the 
houses,  provoke  us  by  hideous 
grimaces,  a  silent  contempt,  but 
one  that  will  not  forget;  and  re- 
member that  it  is  lawful  and  even 
commendable  to  chase  and  strangle 
mice,  rats,  wild  rabbits  and,  gen- 
H  36  H 


OUR  FRIEND  '    IE  DOG 


q 


erally  speaking,  all  animals  (we 
learn  to  know  them  by  secret 
marks)  that  have  not  yet  made 
their  peace  with  mankind. 

All  this  and  so  much  more! 
.  .  .  Was  it  surprising  that  Pel- 
leas  often  appeared  pensive  in 
the  face  of  those  numberless  prob- 
lems, and  that  his  humble  and 
gentle  look  was  often  so  profound 
and  grave,  laden  with  cares  and 
full  of  unreadable  questions? 

Alas,  he  did  not  have  time  to 
finish  the  long  and  heavy  task 
H  37  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

;which  nature  lays  upon  the  in- 
stinct that  rises  in  order  to  ap- 
proach a  brighter  region^)  .  .  . 
An  ill  of  a  mysterious  character, 
Vvhich  seems  specially  to  punish 
the  only  animal  that  succeeds  in 
leaving  the  circle  in  which  it  is 
born;  an  indefinite  ill  that  carries 
off  hundreds  of  intelligent  little 
dogs,  came  to  put  an  end  to  the 
destiny  and  the  happy  education 
of  Pelleas.  And  now  all  those 
efforts  to  achieve  a  little  more 
light ;  all  that  ardour  in  loving, 
H  38  H 


''"lla**v    f***-"'' 


K. 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

that  courage  in  understanding; 
all  that  affectionate  gaiety  and 
innocent  fawning;  all  those  kind 
and  devoted  looks,/  which  turned 
to  man  to  ask  for  his  assistance 
against  unjust  death;  all  those 
flickering  gleams  which  came 
from  the  profound  abyss  of  a 
world  that  is  no  longer  ou 
all  those  nearly  human  little 
habits  lie  sadly  in  the  cold 
ground,  under  a  flowering  elder- 
tree,  in  a  corner  of  the  garden. 

H  89  H 


^vX-^ 


II 

Man  loves  the  dog,  but  how 
much  more  ought  he  to  love  it 
if  he  considered,  in  the  inflexible 
harmony  of  the  laws  of  nature, 
the  sole  exception,  which  is  that 
love  of  a  being  that  succeeds  in 
piercing,  in  order  to  draw  closer 
to  us,  the  partitions,  every  else- 
where impermeable,  that  separate 
the  species !  We  are  alone,  abso- 
lutely alone  on  this  chance  planet ; 
and  amid  all  the  forms  of  life  that 
H  4o  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

surround  us,  not  one,  excepting 
the  dog,  has  made  an  alliance 
with  us.  A  few  creatures  fear 
us,  most  are  unaware  of  us,  and 
not  one  loves  us.  In  the  world 
of  plants,  we  have  dumb  and 
motionless  slaves ;  but  they  serve 
us  in  spite  of  themselves.  They 
simply  endure  our  laws  and  our 
yoke.  They  are  impotent  pris- 
oners, victims  incapable  of  escap- 
ing, but  silently  rebellious;  and, 
so  soon  as  we  lose  sight  of  them, 
hasten 


they 


betray 


H  4i  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

turn  to  their  former  wild  and  mis- 
chievous liberty.  The  rose  and  the 
corn,  had  they  wings,  would  fly  at 
our  approach  like  the  birds. 

Among  the  animals,  we  num- 
ber a  few  servants  who  have 
submitted  only  through  indiffer- 
ence, cowardice  or  stupidity:  the 
uncertain  and  craven  horse,  who 
responds  only  to  pain  and  is 
attached  to  nothing;  the  passive 
and  dejected  ass,  who  stays  with 
us  only  because  he  knows  not 
what  to  do  nor  where  to  go, 
H  £2  H 


d 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

but  who  nevertheless,  under  the 
cudgel  and  the  pack-saddle,  re- 
tains the  idea  that  lurks  behind 
his  ears;  the  cow  and  the  ox, 
happy  so  long  as  they  are  eating, 
and  docile  because,  for  centuries, 
they  have  not  had  a  thought  of 
their  own;  the  affrighted  sheep, 
who  knows  no  other  master  than 
terror;  the  hen,  who  is  faithful 
to  the  poultry-yard  because  she 
finds  more  maize  and  wheat  there 
than  in  the  neighbouring  forest. 
I  do  not  speak  of  the  cat,  to  whom 
H  43  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

we  are  nothing  more  than  a  too 
large  and  uneatable  prey:  the 
ferocious  cat,  whose  sidelong  con- 
tempt tolerates  us  only  as  en- 
cumbering parasites  in  our  own 
homes.  She,  at  least,  curses  us 
in  her  mysterious  heart;  but  all 
the  others  live  beside  us  as  they 
might  live  beside  a  rock  or  a 
tree.  They  do  not  love  us,  do 
not  know  us,  scarcely  notice  us. 
They  are  unaware  of  our  life, 
our  death,  our  departure,  our  re- 
turn, our  sadness,  our  joy,  our 
H  44  M 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

smile.  They  do  not  even  hear 
the  sound  of  our  voice,  so  soon 
as  it  no  longer  threatens  them; 
and,  when  they  look  at  us,  it 
is  with  the  distrustful  bewilder- 
ment of  the  horse,  in  whose  eye 
still  hovers  the  infatuation  of  the 
elk  or  gazelle  that  sees  us  for  the 
first  time,  or  with  the  dull  stupor 
of  the  ruminants,  who  look  upon 
us  as  a  momentary  and  useless 
accident  of  the  pasture. 

For  thousands   of  years,    they 
have  been  living  at  our  side,  as 
H  45  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

foreign  to  our  thoughts,  our  affec- 
tions, our  habits  as  though  the 
least  fraternal  of  the  stars  had 
dropped  them  but  yesterday  on 
our  globe.  In  the  boundless  in- 
terval that  separates  man  from 
all  the  other  creatures,  we  have 
succeeded  only,  by  dint  of  patience, 
in  making  them  take  two  or  three 
illusory  steps.  And  if,  to-mor- 
row, leaving  their  feelings  toward 
us  untouched,  nature  were  to 
give  them  the  intelligence  and  the 
weapons  wherewith  to  conquer 
H  46  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

us,  I  confess  that  I  should  dis- 
trust the  hasty  vengeance  of  the 
horse,  the  obstinate  reprisals  of 
the  ass  and  the  maddened  meek- 
ness of  the  sheep.  I  should  shun 
the  cat  as  I  should  shun  the  tiger; 
and  even  the  good  cow,  solemn 
and  somnolent,  would  inspire  me 
with  but  a  wary  confidence.  As 
for  the  hen,  with  her  round,  quick 
eye,  as  when  discovering  a  slug  or 
a  worm,  I  am  sure  that  she  would 
devour  me  without  a  thought. 

;•.•  .   t 
H    47    H 


Ill 

f^_ 

Now,  in  this  indifference  and  this 
total  want  of  comprehension  in 
which  everything  that  surrounds 
us  lives;  in  this  incommunicable 
world,  where  everything  has  its  ob- 
ject hermetically  contained  within 
itself,  where  every  destiny  is  self- 
circumscribed,  where  there  exist 
among  the  creatures  no  other 
relations  than  those  of  execu- 
tioners and  victims,  eaters  and 
eaten,  where  nothing  is  able  to 
H  48  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

leave  its  steel-bound  sphere,  where 
death  alone  establishes  cruel  rela- 
tions of  cause  and  effect  between 
neighbouring  lives,  where  not  the 
smallest  sympathy  has  ever  made 
a  conscious  leap  from  one  species 
to  another,  one  animal  alone, 
among  all  that  breathes  upon  the 
earth,  has  succeeded  in  break- 
ing through  the  prophetic  circle, 
in  escaping  from  itself  to  come 
bounding  toward  us,  definitely  to 
cross  the  enormous  zone  of  dark- 
ness, ice  and  silence  that  iso- 
H  £9  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

lates  each  category  of  existence  in 
nature's  unintelligible  plan.  This 
animal,  our  good  familiar  dog, 
simple  and  unsurprising  as  may 
to-day  appear  to  us  what  he  has 
done,  in  thus  perceptibly  drawing 
nearer  to  a  world  in  which  he 
was  not  born  and  for  which  he 
was  not  destined,  has  neverthe- 
less performed  one  of  the  most 
unusual  and  improbable  acts  that 
we  can  find  in  the  general  history 
of  life.  When  was  this  recogni- 
tion of  man  by  beast,  this  extraor- 
H  5o  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

dinary  passage  from  darkness  to 
light,  effected?  Did  we  seek  out 
the  poodle,  the  collie,  or  the  mas- 
tiff from  among  the  wolves  and 
the  jackals,  or  did  he  come 
spontaneously  to  us?  We  cannot 
tell.  So  far  as  our  human  annals 
stretch,  he  is  at  our  side,  as  at 
present ;  but  what  are  human  an- 
nals in  comparison  with  the  times 
of  which  we  have  no  witness? 
The  fact  remains  that  he  is  there  in 
our  houses,  as  ancient,  as  rightly 
placed,  as  perfectly  adapted  to  our 


H  5i 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

habits  as  though  he  had  appeared 
on  this  earth,  such  as  he  now  is, 
at  the  same  time  as  ourselves. 
We  have  not  to  gain  his  confidence 
or  his  friendship :  he  is  born  our 
friend;  while  his  eyes  are  still 
closed,  already  he  believes  in  us : 
even  before  his  birth,  he  has  given 
himself  to  man.  But  the  word 
"friend"  does  not  exactly  depict 
his  affectionate  worship.  He  loves 
us  and  reveres  us  as  though  we 
had  drawn  him  out  of  nothing. 
He  is,  before  all,  our  creature  full 
H  5a  H 


«r 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

of  gratitude  and  more  devoted 
than  the  apple  of  our  eye.  He 
is  our  intimate  and  impassioned 
slave,  whom  nothing  discourages, 
whom  nothing  repels,  whose  ardent 
trust  and  love  nothing  can  impair. 
He  has  solved,  in  an  admirable 
and  touching  manner,  the  terrify- 
ing problem  which  human  wisdom 
would  have  to  solve  if  a  divine 
race  came  to  occupy  our  globe. 
He  has  loyally,  religiously,  irrevo- 
cably recognized  man's  superior- 
ity and  has  surrendered  himself  ^ 


H  53 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

to  him  body  and  soul,  without 
after-thought,  without  any  inten- 
tion to  go  back,  reserving  of  his 
independence,  his  instinct  and  his 
character  only  the  small  part  in- 
dispensable to  the  continuation 
of  the  life  prescribed  by  nature. 
With  an  unquestioning  certainty, 
an  unconstraint  and  a  simplicity 
that  surprise  us  a  little,  deeming 
us  better  and  more  powerful  than 
all  that  exists,  he  betrays,  for  our 
benefit,  the  whole  of  the  animal 
kingdom  to  which  he  belongs 
H  54 


to 

:> 

•~> 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

and,  without  scruple,  denies  his 
race,  his  kin,  his  mother  and  his 
young. 

But  he  loves  us  not  only  in  his 
consciousness  and  his  intelligence : 
the  very  instinct  of  his  race,  the  en- 
tire unconsciousness  of  his  species, 
it  appears,  think  only  of  us,  dream 
only  of  being  useful  to  us.  To 
serve  us  better,  to  adapt  himself 
better  to  our  different  needs,  he 
has  adopted  every  shape  and  been 
able  infinitely  to  vary  the  faculties, 
the  aptitudes  which  he  places  at 
H  55  H 


OUR   FRIEND  THE   DOG 

our  disposal.  Is  he  to  aid  us  in 
the  pursuit  of  game  in  the  plains  ? 
His  legs  lengthen  inordinately,  his 
muzzle  tapers,  his  lungs  widen, 
he  becomes  swifter  than  the  deer. 
Does  our  prey  hide  under  wood  ? 
The  docile  genius  of  the  species, 
forestalling  our  desires,  presents 
us  with  the  basset,  a  sort  of  almost 
footless  serpent,  which  steals  into 
the  closest  thickets.  Do  we  ask 
that  he  should  drive  our  flocks? 
The  same  compliant  genius  grants 
him  the  requisite  size,  intelligence, 
H  56  H 


> 


OUR   FRIEND  THE   DOG 

energy  and  vigilance.  Do  we  in- 
tend him  to  watch  and  defend  our 
house?  His  head  becomes  round 
and  monstrous,  in  order  that  his 
jaws  may  be  more  powerful,  more 
formidable  and  more  tenacious. 
Are  we  taking  him  to  the  south? 
His  hair  grows  shorter  and  lighter, 
so  that  he  may  faithfully  accom- 
pany us  under  the  rays  of  a  hotter 
sun.  Are  we  going  up  to  the 
north?  His  feet  grow  larger,  the 
better  to  tread  the  snow;  his  fur 
thickens,  in  order  that  the  cold 
H  57  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

may  not  compel  him  to  abandon 
us.  Is  he  intended  only  for  us  to 
play  with,  to  amuse  the  leisure  of 
our  eyes,  to  adorn  or  enliven  the 
home?  He  clothes  himself  in  a 
sovereign  grace  and  elegance,  he 
makes  himself  smaller  than  a  doll 
to  sleep  on  our  knees  by  the  fire- 
side, or  even  consents,  should  our 
fancy  demand  it,  to  appear  a  little 
ridiculous  to  please  us. 

You  shall  not  find,  in  nature's 
immense  crucible,  a  single  living 
being  that  has  shown  a  like  sup- 
H  58  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

pleness,  a  similar  abundance  of 
forms,  the  same  prodigious  faculty 
of  accommodation  to  our  wishes. 
This  is  because,  in  the  world  which 
we  know,  among  the  different  and 
primitive  geniuses  that  preside 
over  the  evolution  of  the  several 
species,  there  exists  not  one,  ex- 
cepting that  of  the  dog,  that  ever 
gave  a  thought  to  the  presence 
of  man. 

It  will,  perhaps,  be    said    that 
we  have   been  able  to  transform 
almost  as  profoundly  some  of  our 
H  59  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

domestic  animals :  our  hens,  our 
pigeons,  our  ducks,  our  cats,  our 
horses,  our  rabbits,  for  instance. 
Yes,  perhaps;  although  such  trans- 
formations are  not  comparable  with 
those  undergone  by  the  dog  and 
although  the  kind  of  service  which 
these  animals  render  us  remains, 
so  to  speak,  invariable.  In  any 
case,  whether  this  impression  be 
purely  imaginary  or  correspond 
with  a  reality,  it  does  not  appear 
that  we  feel  in  these  transfor- 
mations the  same  unfailing  and 

H    60    H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

preventing  good  will,  the  same 
sagacious  and  exclusive  love.  For 
the  rest,  it  is  quite  possible  that 
the  dog,  or  rather  the  inacces- 
sible genius  of  his  race,  troubles 
scarcely  at  all  about  us  and  that 
we  have  merely  known  how  to 
make  use  of  various  aptitudes 

offered  bv  the  abundant  chances 

•I 

of  life.  It  matters  not:  as  we 
know  nothing  of  the  substance 
of  things,  we  must  needs  cling  to 
appearances;  and  it  is  sweet  to 
establish  that,  at  least  in  appear- 
H  61  H 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

atice,  there  is  on  the  planet  where, 
like  unacknowledged  kings,  we 
live  in  solitary  state,  a  being  that 
loves  us. 

However  the  case  may  stand 
with  these  appearances,  it  is  none 
the  less  certain  that,  in  the  aggre- 
gate of  intelligent  creatures  that 
have  rights,  duties,  a  mission  and 
a  destiny,  the  dog  is  a  really  priv- 
ileged animal.  He  occupies  in 
this  world  a  pre-eminent  posi- 
tion enviable  among  all.  He  is 
the  only  living  being  that  has 
H  62  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

found  and  recognizes  an  indubi- 
table, tangible,  unexceptionable 
and  definite  god.  He  knows  to 
what  to  devote  the  best  part  of 
himself.  He  knows  to  whom 
above  him  to  give  himself.  He 
has  not  to  seek  for  a  perfect, 
superior  and  infinite  power  in  the 
darkness,  amid  successive  lies, 
hypotheses  and  dreams.  That 
power  is  there,  before  him,  and 
he  moves  in  its  light.  He  knows 
the  supreme  duties  which  we  all 
do  not  know.  He  has  a  morality 
H  63  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

which  surpasses  all  that  he  is 
able  to  discover  in  himself  and 
which  he  can  practise  without 
scruple  and  without  fear.  He 
possesses  truth  in  its  fulness. 
He  has  a  certain  and  infinite 
ideal. 


H    64 


IV 

And  it  was  thus  that,  the  other 
day,  before  his  illness,  I  saw  my 
little  Pelleas  sitting  at  the  foot  of 
my  writing-table,  his  tail  carefully 
folded  under  his  paws,  his  head 
a  little  on  one  side,  the  better  to 
question  me,  at  once  attentive  and 
tranquil,  as  a  saint  should  be  in  the 
presence  of  God.  He  was  happy 
with  the  happiness  which  we,  per- 
haps, shall  never  know,  since  it 
sprang  from  the  smile  and  the 
H  65  H 


OUR  FRIEND   THE  DOG 

approval  of  a  life  incomparably 
higher  than  his  own.  He  was 
there,  studying,  drinking  in  all  my 
looks;  and  he  replied  to  them 
gravely,  as  from  equal  to  equal,  to 
inform  me,  no  doubt,  that,  at  least 
through  the  eyes  the  most  imma- 
terial organ  that  transformed  into 
affectionate  intelligence  the  light 
which  we  enjoyed,  he  knew  that 
he  was  saying  to  me  all  that  love 
should  say.  And,  when  I  saw  him 
thus,  young,  ardent  and  believing, 
bringing  me,  in  some  wise,  from 
H  66  H 


XT 


XT 
xf 


OUR  FRIEND   THE   DOG 

s 

the  depths  of  unwearied  nature, 
quite  fresh  news  of  life  and  trust- 
ing and  wonderstruck,  as  though 
he  had  been  the  first  of  his  race 
that  came  to  inaugurate  the  earth 
and  as  though  we  were  still  in  the 
first  days  of  the  world's  existence, 
I  envied  the  gladness  of  his  cer- 
tainty, compared  it  with  the  destiny 
of  man,  still  plunging  on  every  side 
into  darkness,  and  said  to  myself 
that  the  dog  who  meets  with  a  good 
master  is  the  happier  of  the  two. 


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